


I'm sorry.

by illicio



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illicio/pseuds/illicio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Focuses on a clumsy relationship between Stein and Spirit as children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm sorry.

 

 

 

 

            "That's a really dumb strategy."

            "Quit acting like you've got a better one."

            "But, senpai... ...I'm not acting."

            "Go on and tell me, then!"

            "I was waiting for you to ask."

            "I just did!"

            "You demanded and didn't give me a chance to answer. Anyway, you're wasting time. You should attack from the front instead of running in circles."

            "Are you an idiot?! That'll never work!"

            It was two in the morning. White light spilled from the television and open windows, which let in the crescent moon. Its wide-eyed, vacant, fish-like stare somehow looked like it was judging something.

            It was Saturday. They had a three day weekend and nowhere to be; no classes to attend; no missions to take. Stein sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, awake because he kept odd hours, he wanted to finish his book and research, and there was something he'd hoped he'd get to see tonight. (It wouldn't happen now; it was too late.) Spirit sat on the opposite side, although 'sitting' wasn't the right word. He huddled with his knees pulled to his chest and his arms hugged around them, hands gripped so tight around a console controller they'd gone white-knuckled.

            Spirit had changed for the night. Stein had changed, too -- but not because he'd wanted to. Unlike some people, he didn't see a use in dirtying more clothes than necessary and wasting his time washing them. He planned on changing his clothes when he woke up and took a shower -- but when Spirit found out, he scolded him like a child, fussed, pulled at his clothes, and made him change.

            The result was unremarkable -- almost the same as what he'd worn to school that Friday, white and sterile.

            Spirit's look was different. He'd pulled his hair back into a low ponytail Stein supposed he must have thought was cute, because it definitely wasn't keeping his hair out of his eyes. His pajama pants were a red darker than his hair and the top was a long, pastel pink tanktop with a large dark purple rose stitched into it, centered slightly to the left. It was meant for the torso of a tall girl, because that's who bought it.

            A month ago, Spirit's then-girlfriend had changed in their bathroom. When they were leaving, she mentioned she forgot it and said she'd get it later. She eventually forgot it entirely when Spirit called her by a name that wasn't hers and left, furious and unwilling to hear his attempts to give it back the next day. After he'd reconciled the fact she wasn't going to accept anything from him even if it once belonged to her, he started wearing it to bed.

            Stein wasn't sure if it was a comfort object, if he was trying to induce dreams about her, or if he just happened to like it.

            On screen, Spirit died for the seventeenth time.

            Stein exhaled a _huuu_ and heard a sound he likened to an angry dog trying to eat its own leg and failing, yet not understanding why in the world eating its own leg should hurt so badly.

            It seemed strange. Spirit was capable of solving complicated problems in chaotic situations very, very quickly. Some of his snap-judgments were so accurate they'd -- more than once -- saved Stein from damage he'd calculated he'd incur and consequently hadn't bothered to protect himself from, only to realise he hadn't sustained any... ...but his weapon had.

            Yet, in a safe situation, Spirit was useless.

            That's because, Stein thought. He's easily distracted.

            When he lifted his hands and pinched the temples of his glasses with his forefingers and thumbs, pulling them from his face and folding them with a _click!_ and _click!_ before setting them on the arm of the couch, Spirit gave fifty seconds before he asked, "Why'd you take them off? If you're tired, just go to bed."

            Stein's his gaze shifted to the right, looking toward his partner, who hadn't taken his eyes from the screen.

            "It's bad enough you read in the dark," Spirit continued, mashing buttons with his thumbs. "Now you're gonna strain to see the words."

            Cheerfully, Stein replied, "It's better this way. Now I can't see you lose so badly when you don't take my suggestions."

            "Oi!" Spirit barked, snapping his head toward Stein -- who was now looking at the screen, seeing shapes better than anyone ever thought he could without glasses.

            "When you're doing something, even if it's just a game, you should really pay attention." Where Spirit couldn't see, the eighteenth life ended -- almost as quickly as it started.

            Stein's mouth curved into a smile and he looked fondly to the other side of the couch. "Do you think they have a limit for failure? Like, maybe, on the twenty-second try they'll lock you out and say, 'Oh, my... please try again next week.' "

            He thought he could hear Spirit's teeth grinding, but that was short-lived. "Shut up!" Even if Stein had been right, it didn't stop Spirit from shouting. "Oi! Look what you did, you bastard! It's your fault I died! You're getting me killed -- stop distracting me!"

            "If you'd listen to me, you'd be fine," said Stein, collected and calm on a level Spirit would never reach. "I'm telling you, if you attack from the front they won't see it coming."

            Spirit stared at him. "What _are_ you?" he blurted, and it sounded genuine -- like he really didn't know what planet decided to drop Stein off and abandon him here, leaving him for Spirit to take care of. "That doesn't even make sense. Go to bed."

            "How doesn't it?"

            "How _does_ it?" Spirit countered.

            "I'll show you," he answered, closing his book and balancing that on the couch arm beside his glasses. "Let me try."

            Spirit's body uncoiled and his posture straightened. His black-socked feet sank to the floor. He stretched his legs and his toes, arched his back till it popped, and lifted his arms into the air. The console controller raised with them, like a holy grail of gaming -- just out of Stein's reach. His ex-girlfriend's shirt crawled up and revealed a stretch of skin between pajama top and bottom.

            In those inches of exposed flesh, Stein noted the end of a long line that began at the bottom of Spirit's rib cage, traveling down and to the left, curving over his hip like a set of tiny train tracks.

            It was the second wound Spirit had willingly let him stitch in the field, but it was the only one he'd been fully conscious for until he'd passed out from the pain. It hadn't been necessary to stitch right away, but he'd managed to convince Spirit by withholding information like _You won't die from it; it's nonlethal since we're so close to home_ and neglecting to mention the lack of anesthetic.

            He'd come away from it impressed and could admit it had, in fact, been mean to press the wound the wrong way on purpose when Spirit had already endured so much pain. If he hadn't, his partner would have been awake the whole time, his breath shallow and eyes filmy with tears.

            The left corner of Stein's mouth twitched.

            He saw the world like a cat who saw a large, nasty bug their owner didn't see -- until they were in bed later that night and found it dropped on their face, as if the cat was saying, _Look! Here -- I found this for you_ , but he wasn't aware of the look in his eyes.

            Spirit was.

            His eyebrows knit together, still holding the controller in the air. He didn't see things the way Stein did, but it must have been unnerving for him when he saw Stein's body inch toward his like some kind of creepy kid ghost from a scary movie -- especially with eyes like that. Those were the kind of eyes whose sanity said _Be right back!_ and took a leap out the window, floating upward to hang with the moon and look down, far away from everything to do with them and their apartment, observing at a distance where it was possible to record every action and reaction for later study.

            When they were only inches apart, Stein sitting on his folded knees, Spirit's brows worried themselves into a look of concern and his mouth became an uneasy frown. He lowered the controller and let go with his right hand.

            Tentatively, the left offered it to Stein like a peace gift during war time. Stein said nothing, which must have worried Spirit even more, because he said, "Um... hey..."

            The controller began to tremble.

            Instead of accepting, Stein leaned forward, tipped his chin up, and tilted his head. When their lips touched, Spirit's body froze down to his soul and anchored him in place.

            Stein bit down on his bottom lip and Spirit's fair complexion exploded into a feverish red without any transition.

            When the controller fell, it hit Stein's knees and tumbled into the space between them, laying there like a dead thing.

            The face he saw when he pulled away was white and wide-eyed. In that short span of time, the vibrant red blush had already drained away. Stein noticed he looked dizzy, but wasn't largely concerned. He had other things to notice. His tongue left his mouth, trailing along his own bottom lip, where he found he could still taste the lingering traces of cinnamon mouthwash.

            Spirit tried to say something. It was a failed effort, because nothing as complicated as 'Something' came out, but eventually he was very successful and should have won an award for saying "I," which he continued to say, stammering "I... I... I..." and "I-I-I-I... I-I... I..." until Stein's mouth pursed.

            He imagined he could hear Spirit's heart and thought how nice it would have been if his arms and nails were longer and stronger. If they were, he could press his palms to the center of his Spirit's chest, dig his fingers in, and tear his rib cage in half at the sternum. After that, he could take the heart out and preserve it.

            It would have been nice.

            Life came back into Spirit's frozen eyes and he remembered how to move. His back went rigid and a shiver shook up it like a wet dog. He wrenched away violently, clawing at the back and arm of the couch, kicking his legs for purchase against the floor as if he could launch himself away like a rocket, but eventually had to settle for clambering over the couch instead. He hit the floor like dead weight, producing a crash so loud it could have woken someone two floors above them, let alone two floors beneath them, and scrambled like a rabbit with stilts for legs.

            The door to his room slammed once when he ran into it -- not because he didn't know it was closed, but because he tripped. It slammed a second time when he escaped inside.

            Stein watched him, his mouth stretched till it revealed white teeth at each corner.

            He shifted until he was comfortable, faced the television, and picked up the controller.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            "...oi," said the low voice, dark with quiet irritation. "Get up."

            Stein lifted his eyes, looking at a roommate he hadn't seen since Saturday some time around two in the morning, because they hadn't found the courage to leave their room longer than two minutes all weekend and locked the bathroom door whenever they were inside.

            As someone who disliked following orders, his expression became full of something that threatened to become solid, stony defiance. "...why?"

            Spirit didn't answer. His mouth was shaped strangely, as if he was disgusted and sneering, but neither disgust nor scorn touched his eyes. Those were severe -- like he'd spent time and great effort carefully sharpening them and cultivating a deadly face before he stepped out to meet Stein with it, jaw set and teeth clenched.

            When Stein stood from the kitchen chair, it was curiousity that moved him.

            Spirit's siren blue stare (police lights, he thought,) followed him up. Stein stayed silent, returning the look indifferently, waiting for something to happen. In height, they could see eye-to-eye -- but that was about the only time.

            Spirit's mouth morphed into a sulky bend. He hesitated, and then said, "Take your glasses off."

            Stein tilted his head. "Are you going to hit me?"

            "No."

            Because he knew it was honest and couldn't imagine any other reason why, he removed his glasses and gingerly set them on the round table at which he'd been sitting, memorizing outdated names for current diseases and medications.

            When something happened, it happened quickly and attacked from the front.

            The kitchen wasn't large, so the speed at which he'd been shoved and the force behind the hands that slammed his back into the wall weren't surprising more than the fact it had happened. He'd knocked his head and winced, but otherwise didn't show a sign his thoughts had scattered like thousands of crows fleeing a fresh kill.

            On the fridge, three brightly coloured magnets Spirit had insisted on buying fell to the floor with plastic _clink_ s, laying there like the chair that had toppled but went unnoticed.

            Stein blinked, staring blankly at Spirit's collar till he remembered to look up, wide-eyed. He didn't defend himself because he didn't need to and he didn't say anything because he couldn't recall in what part of his brain he'd put 'you' or 'shoved' or 'me.'

            It was the first time Spirit had handled him like this. He defaulted to what he knew best, opening his mouth to say, "Sen-" but failed before his partner leaned in.

            The word found a new home inside Spirit's mouth.

            Stein's shoulders stiffened and turned to rock beneath Spirit's fingers, which gripped them like talons. One of Stein's hands, quick and violent, closed at the back of Spirit's neck like a snakebite, twisting a fistful of hair tightly. He could tell by the irritated noise of discontent that he'd probably pulled some of it out.

            The pressure against his lips increased.

            With all the wickedness that had been found in his hand, Stein wrenched his body away, firmly keeping the grip he had on Spirit's hair, twisting his position from being trapped against a wall, but trying to maintain the link that held them together. He wasn't very sure where he thought he was going or what he'd intended to do; he only knew he didn't want to be in a place where he'd been put.

            He heard the sound of Spirit's yelp and could taste it on his tongue.

            His body stopped moving shortly afterward, halted by the hard edge of the kitchen counter. He turned his head away and inhaled sharply, because it hurt and he could already feel the beginning of a bruise.

            There was a cease fire. Spirit's breath shook like it had been sitting in winter for a year. His eyes were shut -- that's because, Stein mused, you're afraid to open them -- and he murmured an "I..." that sounded uncertain, like his heart was in his throat and he was about to cry.

            His palms left Stein's shoulders and Stein knew the only reason he didn't run was because he was held there.

            He didn't know much about the mechanics of kissing, but knew he could figure out how to do things he felt like doing. That part was easy -- so he decided he felt like sticking his tongue out. He pressed it to Spirit's chin, licking upward till it found a gap between the pair of stupidly stunned lips, created by words he'd wanted to say but couldn't find. Stein filled the space by pushing it inside.

            It was silly for Spirit to be speechless as far as Stein was concerned. He didn't have crows holding pieces of his thoughts, flying away in all directions.

            In a manner so absent it couldn't have been anything but instinct, an arm slipped around Stein's waist to protect him from the edge of the counter -- as if it wasn't already too late. Stein hissed a soft sound into Spirit's mouth, because that was something else he hadn't expected. His spine bent backward when he leaned away, feeling for the first time the warm weight of the body pressed into his. One hand remained adamantly tangled in red hair while the other pawed blindly at the counter, searching for his lost sense of balance -- but Spirit's other arm had already beaten him to it, bracing itself against the counter-top.

            It must not have been secure enough for him. Spirit shifted his stance to something different, awkwardly (accidentally?) nudging one leg between Stein's knees.

            The kiss severed. Stein withdrew, gasping a sharp, _Ah!_ The next thing he saw was the top of a red head, which was bowed over his shoulder, dropping soft kisses like bombs along the place where his shoulder met his neck.

            That, too, must have been instinct: Spirit's body tensed and then stopped. He kept his head down to hide his face.

            Stein was aware of his own racing pulse, his heaving chest, and the fact he could clearly hear himself breathing. With a cruel hand that seemed more willing to yank all of the hair out rather than let go, he forced Spirit's partner's head up like he was a disobedient dog.

            Spirit didn't make a noise. He was quiet, too, except the sound of his own breath, but his eyes were open. The glassy look in them was transparent: he was nervous, confused, and probably scared, like he was hoping Stein had a better idea of what the hell was going on than he did -- like he hadn't started this.

            Stein inhaled a slow, deep, and deliberate breath that he felt down to the new bruise on his back. His mouth curved into a grin shaped like a scythe. Softly, in a voice deceptively gentle, he murmured, "Spirit..." and trailed off like he had more to add, but decided that would suffice.

            It must have hit a strange spot: he saw Spirit's cheeks flush pink and felt him shift. Against his side, he felt the other's grip tighten.

            Neither said anything.

            Stein lifted his other hand from the counter, smoothing the palm up Spirit's arm, hooking it over his shoulder. The tightly-wound fist in his partner's hair relaxed; his eyelashes lowered, he parted his lips, and he pulled himself closer.

            For the first time since their ridiculous struggle began, they closed their eyes and met each other half way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

            "I'm sorry."

            "Ah?"

            "I... I... I-I said I'm sorry."

            "I heard you."

            "Oh... sorry."

            "Why are you sorry?"

            "I didn't-- I didn't-- I-I mean I'm... I'm... I'm sorry!"

            "...would you quit it."

            "Okay. Okay. I'm. I'm just. I-I'm ssss-ss-sshit. I. I. I. I did. I didn't. I mean I did. I did. I didn't. I mean. I did. I-"

            "You didn't."

            "I did! I did and I'm s-"

            "Quit it already -- and if you can't, just shut up."

            "...what do you mean, 'why are you sorry'?"

            "I meant what I said. There's no reason to be sorry, so you can stop."

            Instead, Spirit felt his heart stop.


End file.
